


Amity

by Kogiopsis



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, SANDERSON Brandon - Works, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, WoR spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogiopsis/pseuds/Kogiopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the chaos after the Everstorm, Shallan struggles to define herself - and to mourn her lost mentor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeatherWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherWriter/gifts).



> For all we've 'warred' over shipping in the past, Feather is my good friend and this was the least I could do after the end of Words of Radiance.

The first few times Renarin hears voices coming from Shallan Davar’s room, he tries to ignore them.  She’s a Radiant, so she could be talking to her spren, or maybe to his brother - either way, it’s not his place to hear what’s going on.

The day that he reveals himself as a Truthwatcher, though, he can’t avoid it.  He passes her room on his way back from speaking to King Elhokar and her voice is loud, sharp, and upset.

“Jasnah, I don’t know how to be what they want!  They want a Radiant who can fight the Desolations and I’m - a half-forged scholar at best!”

Renarin stops in his tracks.  Shallan’s voice grows quieter, and he can no longer make out individual words, but what he did hear was enough.  He stands frozen for a minute, then continues on; but that night as he’s falling asleep he turns her words over in his head.

***

The next day, his father asks him to fetch Shallan so that they - the three Radiants still left in residence at Urithiru - can have an early conference.  When he reaches her door and raises his hand to knock, he catches a hint of conversation.  The only discernable word is Jasnah’s name.

He raps softly on the door and shortly thereafter she answers.  Nothing in her appearance suggests recent upset, but after two such occurrences Renarin has his suspicions.

“Highprince Dalinar requests your presence for a consultation of Radiants,” he says formally, stepping back and holding the door for her.  She nods at him as she passes, and he has to walk somewhat faster than he usually does to catch up.  It’s tempting to trail behind her like a servant, but the thought of his father’s reaction to him doing so spurs him on.  They’re supposed to be equals now, four founding members of newly reforged Orders, and Renarin is determined to meet Dalinar’s expectations in that regard for as long as he can.

Walking next to Shallan is an odd experience.  Her stride is brisk, somewhere between the delicate steps of most Vorin ladies and Adolin’s swinging, confident walk.  He can’t keep pace precisely, and takes three steps to her every two.  She doesn’t seem to have noticed; indeed, when Renarin glances sideways at her once her gaze is fixed straight ahead.  She glows faintly with Stormlight, and looks for all the world as if he’s not there at all.

Renarin looks back down at the stones beneath his feet.  Under most circumstances he would let things stand as they are.  Seeking out conversation is not something he enjoys, let alone conversation with people who have already dismissed him once.  They rarely change their minds, and over the years he’s simply become accustomed to avoiding contact with them as much as possible.

He won’t be able to avoid Shallan, though, and if his guess is correct… someone needs to reach out to her.

As they approach the stairwell leading up to the room Dalinar has appropriated for their conference room, he speeds his pace a bit and gets slightly ahead of her.  Then he stops and turns in the stairwell itself, blocking her way and forcing her to stop and look at him directly.  Renarin breaks eye contact first, of course, but he says what he had planned to anyway.

“Brightness Shallan, I know that you don’t care for me but I - that is to say -”  It’s falling apart.  He’s still resolutely not looking at her face, but the hem of her dress bobs as the slippered foot underneath taps.

“You lost a mentor and I lost a cousin,” he says, in a rush.  “I - we - all miss her too.  If you - if you want to talk - I know what it’s like.”

Before she can respond he turns and climbs the stairs as fast as he can.  His heart is racing, so after less than a dozen steps he slows to avoid sending himself into an attack, but nonetheless - it takes her more than a minute to emerge from the stairwell into the room after him.

***

Nothing comes of it that day, but on the next there’s a knock on his door and he opens it to find Shallan, freehand still raised as if she were going to knock again.  There’s a basket over her arm.

“Pattern thinks I should speak with you,” she says, abrupt.  “I brought lunch - we can go to one of the terraces.”

She’s still sharp, almost angry, and after that he can’t bring himself to smile, but he nods anyway.

***

They don’t eat lunch together every day at first, but after a few repetitions it becomes habit.  Sometimes Shallan brings the basket, and sometimes Renarin does, and it doesn’t take long for them to start arranging at the end of one meal who’ll gather the next one.

Renarin tells her stories about Jasnah, every story he knows.  It’s easier to speak to her when he’s looking out at the mountains and can’t see her reactions, and when he’s talking about someone else.  In return she tells him about studying with his cousin in Kharbranth, and he sneaks little sideways glances at her from time to time.  Her face is softer when she talks about the Palanaeum, and sometimes she gets onto a tangent about something she read and becomes truly animated, gesturing so broadly that her safehand sleeve flaps.

There are gaps in her stories, and Renarin supposes he wouldn’t be worthy of the name of Truthwatcher if he didn’t notice them, but he doesn’t say anything.  At times like this he thinks maybe, just maybe, she could be the first person who changes her mind.  That’s too precious to risk.

Once, Shallan asks for a taste of his lunch.  They’re careful, every day, to get masculine and feminine meals and divvy them appropriately, but he can’t see a reason to refuse her request.  It’s not as if she’s a paragon of feminine ideals anyway, with her long stride and her Shardblade.  Radiants, he supposes, eat whatever they want.

“I knew a woman who ate men’s food all the time,” she says after swallowing a piece of spiced roasted root.  “She was Alethi, but raised - somewhere else.  I always wondered what the appeal was.”  She pauses, takes another bite and chews it slowly as if savoring it.  “She made me wonder a lot of things, I suppose.  Here, you should try some of mine!”

Startled, Renarin accepts the sliced fruit she offers and takes a bite.  Unfamiliar sweetness fills his mouth and he pulls a face in surprise.  Shallan - Shallan laughs.

After a second, he laughs with her.

“It doesn’t taste like food!” he protests, only half seriously.  She chuckles again.

“Jasnah would say that the division between men’s and women’s food is absurd and arbitrary, I’m sure.  As her ward, I suppose it’s my duty to explore that idea to the fullest extent of my ability.”

It’s the first time, Renarin thinks, that she’s mentioned Jasnah without sadness.

***

The next day, in contrast, Shallan is quiet when they meet.  They settle down at their regular place on the terrace, Renarin to her right and the basket open between them.  The silence doesn’t feel companionable, but he’s loath to break it by saying the wrong thing, and so focuses on the meal instead.

“Renarin,” Shallan says finally, her voice sudden enough that he glances at her.  Her food is almost untouched.

“Renarin,” she says again.  “I… I think I owe you an apology.”

Renarin blinks in surprise.

“I misjudged you, on the Shattered Plains,” Shallan says.  She’s not looking at him, which he’s glad for but which is also uncharacteristic of her.  “I didn’t understand… what you were experiencing.  Pattern spoke to Glys and told me something about it and I - I should not have reacted as I did.”

Renarin’s voice sticks in his throat for a moment.  This is - unprecedented.

“You were not at fault,” he says finally.  “It was a stressful situation, and you had no way of knowing - I could hardly have told you myself, at the time.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Shallan says, vehemence in her voice as she turns to look at him.  “Jasnah told me that a true scholar must never close her mind and I - it was the most basic precept of her teachings and I’ve ignored it.  And - Storms, I ordered them to gag you - Renarin, I am truly sorry.”

Renarin is frozen in shock, too stunned at first to even look away even though she’s staring at him so intensely.  He can’t remember the last time someone apologized for how they regarded him.

“Th- thank you, Shallan,” he says at last, eyes flicking down to the half-full basket.  He grabs it with both hands and holds it up between them like a shield.  “You really should eat, you know.  Zahel expects you for sword training soon.”

Slowly, she takes the basket from his hands and settles it in her lap.  The rest of the meal passes quietly, but comfortably so.

Inside, before they part ways, Renarin hugs her.  It’s brief, but long enough for him to notice that the top of her head comes only partway up his cheek, and that her hair is soft.  Long enough for him to whisper ‘thank you’ again into her ear.

***

That night, he’s startled by a rustling noise at his door.  When he approaches it to investigate, he finds a folded sheet of paper.  Opening the dot of weevilwax that secures it shows him - himself, in profile, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, gesturing with one hand.  His mouth is open as if in mid-story.  It’s a perfect rendering, down to the crispness of his uniform.  In the bottom corner is a single glyph:  amity.

He sets it on the room’s small table and places his lacquered box on top of it for safekeeping.


End file.
